


I Need

by abstractconcept



Series: The Epic of Porn [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, Ficlet, Humor, M/M, dirtybadwrong, lust potion, snarody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-17
Updated: 2004-10-17
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Harry is splashed by an ill-concocted potion, and Snape...rises to the occasion.





	I Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loupgarou1750 (LoupGarou)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoupGarou/gifts).



> BETAS: The Super ShadowPhoenix, the Gutsy Gemsbok  
> Written for my commanders, stellahobbit and loupgarou1750 by their faithful Lieutenant, to show that I am, indeed, keeping my hand in the Snarry pot.

Potter stood before me, his eyes glassy, his face feverish. He licked his lips once, twice, again, until they were rosy and slick. “I need…”

 I stared. Longbottom had managed to surpass himself today, detonating a potion, which—under _any_ circumstances—should not have been possible to explode. He’d added three handfuls—that’s _handfuls_ —of Love’s Lust to the brew, when three pinches are advised on the board—capitalized, underlined, and circled for good measure. I watched the entire thing unfold. Of course I didn’t stop him! I am a firm advocate of learning from one’s mistakes. Mister Longbottom makes a great many; I am certain that, considering the sheer volume, he must one day learn _something._ Today was not that day.

I could have screamed. I could have cursed. I could have called the Headmaster. Instead, I merely gave him two months of detention and threw the class out on their collective arse. That’s when I noticed that Potter had stayed behind. That’s when I noticed Potter was covered in translucent drops of Mister Longbottom’s potion. That’s when I noticed that Potter was right before me…licking his lips—the fool.

He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and tried again. “I need…” he trailed off once more.

We’d been making a Fealty Draught, which really hardly needs Love’s Lust at all, but the stewed slugs require a small amount to bind the…but that’s beside the point. Love’s Lust is strictly regulated, because it is so easily abused. Mixed with the right amount of dragon’s scales, it creates a _powerful_ aphrodisiac. I observed Potter closely.

Rapid breathing, dilated pupils, flushed skin—all symptoms of many, _many_ potions. Was he experiencing euphoria? Sudden warmth, prickling skin, painful arousal? I stared into the depths of those green eyes, and saw the desperation and hunger written there.

One hand trailed slowly up his body to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. _Lovely,_ I thought despite myself. He tugged on the fastening of his cloak, sending it tumbling loose to gather in folds around his feet. His eyes were pleading. “I need…”

Oh, but yes. One does _need_ , if one is hit with an overdose of Love’s Lust. It is foolish to say that climax must be reached with the aid of another, though, as many seducers try to convince their partners. No, anything of that nature is more or less unnecessary—more or less. More, because it does not matter _how_ orgasm is achieved, merely that it _is_. Sometimes several times, before the potion that has been absorbed by the skin can be ejected via the semen. Less, though, because the potion renders the taker even more of a fumbling idiot than…well. Than Potter would be, I suppose. It is difficult to concentrate, and the desire running through the body is quite heady. I have also heard that the potion causes difficulty with neurons and receptors and whatnot, although studies have not firmly proven this.

He leaned forward, lips trembling ever such a little. _Oh yes_ , I thought. _He needs_.

And I reach an unexpected realization; that so do I.

 “You need, Mister Potter? You need what, exactly? Do you have any idea what potion it is that rests upon your skin like dew, sliding down to bead on your upper lip, even as we speak?”

His eyes widened, and he shook his dark head just a little.

 “When Love’s Lust is mixed with dragon’s scales, Mister Potter, you get…?” Even in yearning, one should learn something.

But the youth merely swallowed hard, causing odd things to happen to my own body. Damn the boy to the nethermost regions of hell. On the other hand, it might be well to have company on the journey…

“You get one of the five most powerful lust potions known to man. First, you feel hot. Not just on your skin. No, the potion seems to pool low in your abdomen, bringing with it every erotic thought you ever had. All there. All concentrated…” Here I ran a finger down the youth’s skin, giving in to the temptation to lay my fingertip against that milky throat, following a line down, down, slowly to his groin. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and I cannot help if one corner of my mouth was pulled up at the sight. “Right. _There,_ ” I whispered. “And then you _need_.”

“You need?” I prompted, and he could not speak. He nodded. “You need _what_ , Mister Potter? You need to be unclothed, naked, glorying in the flush of your skin being brushed by the cool dungeon air?

 “You need _what?_ You need to be touched, to have my fingers trace every elegant line of your body? To have my skin ghost across the hard flatness of your muscles, caress the delicate sensitive spots, press forcefully against the ache, the want, the _need_ …?” I let my words, my dark voice wrap around him like silk, and the student shivered.

 “You need what, Harry? You need to be taken? To be turned over my desk and taught a lesson you’ll not soon forget? You need to be stripped of your title and pretensions and insecurities, and allowed to become just this—just raw and desperate desire? Do you wish me to spank you, to hurt you, to _punish_ you for every perceived imperfection?

 “You need…what? To be fucked softly and slowly? Loved and gathered into the arms of another? To be kissed as though you are worth a thousand deaths? To find redemption in _embrace_ and _heat_ and _wet_? To moan and writhe and squirm beneath my heavy, solid weight?

 “Or do you need to be thrown down on your hands and knees? Do you need me to ride you—hard—taking what I need and thereby giving you the same? You need to hear my voice, whispering filthy, wanton words into your virgin ears, while my cock thrusts and drives and fills your equally virgin arse? Hmm, Mister Potter? Is that what you _need_?”

 He stared at me forever, it seemed, his glasses steamed and still decorated by droplets of the clear potion. His mouth was open wide, and it took him some time to realize that one of its uses is for making words. Even then, it seemed he could not recall how to make it work. It opened and shut several times.

 “You. _Need_?”

 He squeaked, swallowed, shook his head.

 “Harry!” Granger’s voice was at the door, and her head popped in. “You’ll be late for Charms if you don’t hurry!” With a weak smile and a nod, he waved her away.

 He turned his round eyes back to me. “I—I need. I—need.” He gestured to the student’s desk to his side, where Longbottom’s disaster is left as it was, and still waiting to be cleaned. On it sat an unopened jar of dragon’s scales. “I don’t think he _got_ that far,” Potter told me somewhat breathlessly. He seemed to choke a bit, then added, “I—I just wanted—I was going to say—I.”

 I shut my eyes.

 “I need a glass of water.”

 I was silent a long moment before opening my eyes. “Then get yourself one and get out,” I snarled, and he raced to do so. He gulped down the water so that it spilled over his chin, down that throat I so recently touched.

 Then he grabbed his pack and ran for the door. He paused there, looking back at me, as though he was deliberating whether to say something. I put on a fierce expression, and gave him my blackest look, and he gasped, turned, scurried away.

 I wandered back to my storeroom, and gathered the ingredients necessary for absinthe, in order to muster the fortitude required to face the next class. _And fuck the headmaster if he wishes to complain about it,_ I thought to myself with ire, as I stomped back to my desk and sank, humiliated, into my seat. Sipping my concoction slowly, I thought of Potter’s wide eyes, rapid breath, and steamed glasses. Stupid creature. I gingerly adjusted myself in my seat, wishing I’d chosen to wear less restrictive undergarments. _Damn Potter!_ I glared at my lap, telling myself that I would completely forget him. Infuriating brat that he is. He has no consideration for other people’s needs.


End file.
